Dirty Little Freaks (3 page)

As soon as I was old enough to throw punches and defend against the bullies in grade school, I changed it to JD. It just so happened that Salinger was already one of my favorite authors by then, a fact I hid by huddling under my covers and reading “Catcher” by the light of my pilfered keychain flashlight. If my mom caught me, she’d become enraged by her ‘pretentious’ daughter trying to show her up, thinking she was so much better than anyone else. Follow this by a slap or two, then tears and a night spent in her cups wailing about what a terrible mother she is. As I said, it was easier to play dumb in my house.

In grade eight I was sent into an alternative program. We were back living in New Westminster; a low rent Pepto Bismal pink heritage building located directly next to the Skytrain tracks. It was cheap, cheaper because I think my mom was fucking the old Portuguese manager...and possibly the handyman, but I didn’t want to know. Every morning I’d stop in at the Hari Krishna restaurant on the bottom floor and pick up my lunch. They loved me there, it was a free restaurant to begin with, and all vegetarian, but they gave me more than enough food for lunch and dinner as they were closed by the time I got home from school. To this day the taste of a lentil patty makes me want to break out my saffron scarf, shave my head and dance around with my tambourine singing “Hari Hari.” No, not really, but belonging to a group where you don’t have to think for yourself seems appealing at times.

Lucky for me, Eva ended up in the same alternate program, read, “special school for slow and bad kids.” I was considered slow, she was bad, really bad. She was the same age as me, 13, and had already been expelled from several private and public schools on the Lower Mainland. Her parents were wealthy, kind, still together and utterly confused at their crazy rebellious pot smoking, boy obsessed only daughter. She had a town car drop her off every morning and called her driver “Jeeves.” That couldn’t have been his real name, but I’d never asked. Maybe one of these days I will.

She was a firecracker, a gorgeous firecracker, and she liked me. After her attention fell on me, I was set for life socially in terms of high school. Everybody loved Eva, and loved her money, so I got to tag along to the craziest events, concerts and house parties in mansions on the West Side.

One night when we were finishing grade nine, she talked me into taking the Skytrain down to Kits Beach to sleep outside under the stars. It’s a really popular beach, so we thought we’d be ok sneaking in a night there. I met her at Broadway Station and we hopped the 99 bus to Kits, then walked the few blocks down to the beach. It was a gorgeous summer night in Vancouver, the smell of grilled meat wafting from the beachside restaurant. Why couldn’t the Hari Krishnas be carnivores? I lamented this for the thousandth time as we stopped on the grass. I would’ve killed for a burger right then, like literally fucking killed, torn the throat out of a cow and cooked up the whole body. My mouth was watering by the time we got to the sand.

Eva kicked off her shoes and ran towards the water. I was wearing my knee high Docs, a sweet Salvation Army thrift store find, and sat down to unlace them. I carried them with me, not wanting to lose them to some quick thinking thief, and noticed Eva left her expensive flats behind. She just didn’t care about these things. I’ve always admired that.

We splashed around a little, squealing and laughing in the water, then headed for a nice spot on the grass. The sun was setting and the lights of Vancouver clicked on, our own private show it seemed. She sparked up a joint and we took turns on it, my first time so I sputtered and coughed when I inhaled which set her to laughing so hard she had tears down her cheeks.

I got into it though, I was apparently born chronic, and soon the effects were spreading through my body. My arms felt light and fuzzy, my legs felt leaden, like I couldn’t move if I tried. My face was frozen in a permanent Joker grin and I found everything was nicer, the lights twinkled and the ocean smelled delicious. I could hear the sounds of traffic in the distance and the faint screech of seagulls overhead. I fell back into the grass and marveled at the cool earth, the prickly poke of each blade on my skin and the crazy sensation of being connected to everything, I was part of an ecosystem and almost felt like weeping for the revelation. Almost, come on, I would have fucking punched myself in the face if I had actually cried.

Eva fell back into the grass next to me and grabbed my hand. Not in a lesbo way, but in that shared communion way.

“Your name should be Jade.”

“What do you mean?” I managed to squeak out, my throat and lips dry.

“JD, it sounds like Jade. And Jade is beautiful but tough, like you. It’s the hardest thing on earth but everybody thinks it’s precious. It can cut glass, did you know that?”

I think she meant diamonds, but I didn’t have the heart to correct her. “I don’t know, Jade sounds like a porn star name.”

“You should be so lucky. I would love to do porn when I’m older.”

“You’d be perfect for it,” a male voice said and we both sat up.

“Hey,” Eva said, “who are you?”

His name was Butch, he was an adorable Filipino guy a few years older than us, he had smooth skin and perfect teeth. He found us while taking a leak in the bushes, which he continued to do as we talked. I had never seen an uncircumcised dick before, and Eva caught me staring. “I think Jade likes it,” she laughed. And that’s how it happened; I was Jade from then on, even though I never really liked it. It just stuck.

It turned out Butch had a bit part in some cheesy Vancouver produced teen TV drama, so Eva fucked him on the beach that night. He also had a group of friends with a bonfire, better weed and a bunch of booze just up the grass from us. They also had burgers grilling on a portable BBQ, glorious fucking burgers. I think I ate six in the time it took Eva to fuck him and come back. By the time it occurred to me that he could be a serial killer rapist making off with my best friend, she was done and by my side, swigging straight out of a bottle of Bombay Sapphire, wide grin on her face.

And for the record, Jade is a porn star name. Hence our bestselling rubber twat modeled after a porn star named Jade. I always laugh at the little cured ham pocket pussy when a customer slides it across the counter, hoping to make eye contact. I secretly hope mine is prettier than the fake one, I always mean to get a mirror and check it out, but never have.

“Are you fucking
kidding
me? I’m on the mother fucking
list
!” Eva screams at the bouncer denying us entrance to The Roxy. We can hear the steady spine thumping bass coming from the club and the line winds around the block. Granville Street is hopping, it’s eleven on a Friday, anyone who’s anyone is here. This has been a no traffic area for as long as I can remember, so drunks and tweekers are free to stumble here and there with no worries. A frat boy and his buddies walk by, he smashes his beer bottle to the ground and whoops. I stare in disgust, I hate guys like that, and I can’t help my sneer.

“What the fuck are you looking at, freak?” he yells right in my face, arms out like he’s going to attack.

“Nothing,” I reply, cool as a cuke and spit on the ground in his direction. “Absolutely nothing.”

“That’s good, fucking bitch,” he says and walks away, not understanding he was just dissed by a “freak.” I wonder if he’ll ever get it.

“We are on there, I know we are. The lead singer of, like, the band that’s playing right now? He personally invited us!” Eva continues to argue with the beefcake dude guarding the door. I don’t say a thing. I know she won’t quit until she gets her way.

“Sorry miss, do you know how many girls a night try to get in that way? I don’t see your name, I can’t let you jump the queue.” He looks up and down his clipboard carefully, not seeing us on it.

“Come on, do you know how pissed he’ll be if you deny him access to this?” She motions up and down her body.

“Ok, what’s his name?”

“Diesel.” She says and looks smug.

“Everybody knows his stage name...I mean his real name,” he says and raises one eyebrow.

Eva looks stunned. You can tell she’s thinking but can’t quite remember “big cock bent over couch’s” name. Fuck, this is going to be a long night. He glances at me and we share a look.

“Gage!” She yells triumphantly, “His real name is Gage Patterson!”

The bouncer hesitates, he really wasn’t expecting her to know that, neither was I. I’m sure he’s thinking he’ll regret this, but he reluctantly unhooks the velvet rope and lets us pass.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Eva blows him a kiss as we go in.

The club is packed. We don’t even bother to check our things. I’m glad I shoved everything into a small wallet and shoved it down the pocket in the front of my short plaid skirt. I sew a little pocket inside all of my skirts just for this reason. Yeah, I sew, big fucking deal. I’m wearing shredded black tights and have my hair sticking up as high as I can get it, the sides are super short and I have long, green extensions falling down my back. I love the eighties punk look, well, love might be an understatement…I fucking worship the eighties punk movement. Tonight I compliment the plaid mini kilt with a black Ramones tee, a black leather jacket and dark, smoky eyes, very heavy on the mascara. I am wearing my ‘fuck me’ boots, as Eva called them, but I think of them more as ‘fuck you up’ boots. They’re knee high Fluevogs, black leather and have about a hundred eyelets. I love them so damn much, they are pretty much the only article of clothing I’ve ever spent full price on. I used to walk past the Fluevog flagship store on Granville Street almost every day on my way to work. I would pause and stare in the window so often that one clerk would wave and smile brightly at me every time he’d see me. I knew how much they were and saved up until the glorious day I waved back, and opened the front door. The look of surprise on his face was worth the money, and the boots were the icing on that cake.

I know I look good tonight, my tits feel full and perky and my legs feel long and elegant. We push our way through the crowd so Eva can spot Diesel from somewhere near the front. The beat is slamming, and my body picks it up immediately. My hips sway in time as we walk, and I accidentally brush up against the bodies of one or two hot, drunk men. Shit, I think I’m in heat. I do a mental evaluation and try to check myself. Nope not working, my body wants to grind tonight, and my brain is quickly losing control. I hope Eva brought something to blame it on: there’s nothing wrong with finding yourself on the receiving end of a punk band bukakke party if you can say it was the X.

Eva turns to me and yells, “I think I see the bass player, the one I want you to meet.” She points to the stage where a few guys are thrashing around, playing it up for the crowd. The only one who stands out is Diesel, the others are moving too fast for me to know who’s on bass.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of myself tonight,” I assure her. She’s been yapping about this guy since she hooked up with Diesel and I’ve been dashing away every time she tries to force me to look at him. I get this weird feeling that Eva has some kind of nesting thing going on, she wants to settle down and a dating foursome with her bestie might just be the thing for her, but not for me. No way I’m getting roped into faking it with some loser bass player just to appease her need for domestic bliss. Out of the corner of my eye I see Eva jumping up and down, waving her hands frantically.

“There’s no way he’ll see you in here, calm down,” I yell over the music.

She doesn’t hear me, or doesn’t care. She continues to push herself closer to the stage, ignoring the angry shouts and glares from the people at the front. She is a girl on a mission and nobody was getting between her and “massive-cock-almost-knows-how-to-use-it.” At least she’s forgotten about foisting me off on bass guy, so I’m left on my own.

I stand behind her, swaying slightly but tapping my foot in annoyance and my growing frustrated horny state. Eva is still waving her hands like an idiot and trying to get his attention, but she is one girl in a sea of drunken sluts. Diesel turns in the middle of a repetitive howl that’s doubling as music, and spots her. He stops dead, a wide grin lights up his face and he reaches for her.

It’s definitely gonna to be a long fucking night. The only thing Eva loves more than gigantic cock is a gigantic gesture, especially if it’s seen by a club full of jealous girls. She’s the ultimate fangirl, especially if it means she gets to be the centre of attention.

I turn and head towards the bar, adjusting my top so my tits hang out a little more. It looks like I am on my own for free drinks. I still need to find something to fuck me up so I have some excuse for the self-destructive sex I need tonight. I sidle up to the counter and try to make eye contact with a couple of decent looking guys. Nothing. Fuck. They must be a couple, or something. I lean on one arm, slowly swivel my head and scan the place, not a single guy looking my way. What is this tonight, a bunch of dudes actually here for the fucking music? Finally! Eye contact. Fuck, some old dude. He looks like my tenth grade English teacher, Mr. Grady. Shit,
is
that Mr. Grady? No, it can’t be. That would be hilarious and awesome though if it was. I avoid eye contact with the fake Grady and keep scanning slowly. There’s gotta be at least one horny asshole with a deep wallet in this place. Then bells go off in my head, ding ding ding we have a winner. I settle on a ripped, biker-looking dude with wicked tats everywhere. His silver earplugs are huge and his arms are bulging with muscle so thick you could carve a steak off them. He's staring at me like he wants to fuck me like a beast, right then and there. Perfect.